


Degrees of Separation

by minnesotamemelord



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., Drinking, Episode: s18e07 Next Chapter, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s18e07 Next Chapter, Psychological Trauma, Trauma, drunk bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 09:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17846762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnesotamemelord/pseuds/minnesotamemelord
Summary: Carisi almost got shot. He almost died. Death found its own way to creep into his life and shake things up. Then again, sometimes things need to be shaken up in order for us to see what we've already got.





	Degrees of Separation

_Click- **BANG**_  


Even hours after he had left the house, and everything that had happened there, behind him, the sound of gunshots echoed in Carisi's mind. A glass of water trembled in one of his hands, and he tried to remember the exercises his therapist had taught him when he was a kid. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Nothing he did seemed to calm his racing heart. His eyes were unfocused, fixed on some point off in the distance. Everyone else had gone home, moved on with their lives. But he didn't have anything else. His family would all be at dinner at his parents' house in Staten Island. He could go. If he left now, he could probably make it in time for dessert. And yet, as much as he loved his mother's _pandoro,_ he couldn't seem to make his legs move. His anything, really. He was stuck to his chair, with nothing but his thoughts and the night shift for company. He couldn't decide which was the worse of the two.  


Something tapped his shoulder. He jumped.  


"Whoa there, Fordham. It's just me." Barba circled the desk, briefcase swinging at his side.  


"Oh. Hey, Barba."  


"Is Benson still here?" He glanced over at her office. "Guess not." He turned back to Carisi. "What are you still doing here?" Carisi shrugged. "You're not as talkative as usual. What's your deal?"  


"Don't know if you heard, but I was almost shot in the face today, so I'm not really in the mood for witty banter." Barba quieted.  


"Do you want to... talk about it?"  


"No. Yes. I don't know." Barba looked him up and down, then set his briefcase on Carisi's desk.  


"Come on." He gestured Carisi towards Benson's darkened office. "Get up." He practically dragged Carisi to his feet and pulled him into the office. "Get the light, would you?" A confused Carisi fumbled for the light switch. Barba dug through Benson's desk, looking for something.  


"What're you looking for?"  


"Just a second... there we go." Barba pulled a dark green bottle out of a file cabinet. "Grab some cups from the break room." Carisi left and returned moments later with a pair of Styrofoam cups. "Styrofoam. Guess the turtles aren't going to kill themselves." Carisi snorted. He hadn't laughed all day. Barba yanked the cork out of the bottle and poured dark red wine into each of the cups. " _Salud._ "  


" _Salud._ " They drank in silence for a moment.  


"So... you going to talk, or what?"  


"Sure. About what?" Barba rolled his eyes, a trademark of his persona.  


"You just told me you almost died today. Why don't we start with that?" Carisi shrugged again.  


"I don't know. It's just that. I almost got shot."  


"Well, yes, but how? Why? I wasn't there. I can't help if I don't know what I'm talking about." Carisi nodded slowly and took another long sip.  


"Benson and I tracked Cole to his brother's house in Harding. He was holding Quinn hostage, and while Benson kept him distracted, I went in. We knew he had a gun, but I got stupid. I thought I could handle it. And then I turned around, and next thing I knew, I had the barrel of a Glock pressed to my face. He had the safety off. A half-second later, my brains would've been splattered across those floors. Poof. No more Dominick Carisi. And probably no more Quinn Berris or Olivia Benson either. But that's not what happened. I ended up with _his_ brains splattered across _my_ face. It took two showers to get the blood out of my hair. Plus a third to stop crying." He glanced up, and he hoped Barba couldn't see the tears building in his eyes. "I can't stop shaking." He held up his hand for emphasis. "And I can't quite seem to catch my breath." He shook his head with a bitter expression. "When I was a kid, I used to get these- these anxiety attacks. I'd hyperventilate, I'd get dizzy, and it would feel like there was a three-hundred-pound linebacker sitting on my chest. My parents took me to therapy, which helped. And then, around when I turned seventeen, they just stopped. And it hadn't happened since. Not until now."  


"Are you okay?" Carisi fixed Barba with a dubious glare. "Right. Stupid question." Barba refilled his empty cup.  


"I just can't stop thinking that I shouldn't even be here right now. And in some weird way, I feel like I shouldn't. I wish Benson hadn't had to shoot Cole."  


"You're sounding a little suicidal there, Carisi."  


"I'm not, but... something about this feels wrong. Like I cheated. Like I don't deserve to still be here."  


"Are you kidding me?" Barba downed the last of his drink and refilled it once again. "You don't think you deserve to be here? Are you actually insane?"  


"I don't think so, but currently, I'm not sure. I don't always feel like I belong here anymore. These last six months have just felt so different. Like I'm just detached from everything."  


"Does it have to do with Dodds?"  


"I don't think so. There's just something about me that feels different. Something in me changed. And now I'm just not sure where I fit. Maybe I should have taken that ADA job in Brooklyn. Although, it probably wouldn't matter. Nobody'd respect me there, either."  


"Wait, Carisi, is this because you feel like we don't respect you?" Barba scoffed. "Fordham- and I promise I'm only saying this because I am drunk- I do respect you. Really. You're nicer than anyone I've ever met in this job, and you haven't let being a cop change you. You're not the same Carisi I met three years ago, but I don't think it's made you harder, or more cynical. I think it's made you more determined not to be. You're still a ray of goddamn sunshine, and it bugs me to no end. Because I didn't. I let this job change me, and there's nothing I regret more. But you haven't. You're kind, and you're smart- so damn smart. You're probably smarter than me, as much as I hate to say it, which is a lot. I know I give you a lot of crap over your ideas, but that's just because I'm annoyed that you thought of them at the same time I did, if not before. Again, I'm pretty smashed right now, so take this stuff to heart, but also know I will not remember saying it."  


Carisi rolled his eyes.  


"Thanks."  


"No, seriously. I'm what they call a 'sentimental drunk'. I'm very honest. I'm just also hammered."  


"Well, thanks. Although, I don't know about me not being changed by my job. You know, earlier today, I was thinking about how being a cop changes you, how you come out worse than you came in. And all I could think about was changing my life, finding some new direction. And now, even after almost getting shot, I can't see myself doing anything else. So what does that say about me?"  


"It says exactly what I said about you. That you're better than me for not letting it get to you. And we need more cops like you. We need more people like you."  


"Seems like bull."  


"I don't B.S., Carisi. You know that. You're a good cop, and a better man."  


"Thanks. Really." Their eyes met. Even through the drunken sheen over them, Carisi could see the acute intelligence in Barba's eyes. Behind the warm, coffee-brown irises, there was something unrecognizable. Something Carisi had never seen before. It seemed almost like a link, something that connected him to Carisi in a way neither of them had ever connected before.  


"You're gonna go far, Carisi. Don't worry about a thing." Barba rose unsteadily to his feet, supporting himself on Carisi's shoulder. "I gotta go. We've got to be back here in..." he checked his phone. "Ugh. Less than six hours. Yeah, all the coffee in the world isn't going to help this hangover." Carisi followed him out into the bullpen.  


"How are you getting home?"  


"I'll take a cab. Maybe. Although-" he burped. "I might actually puke. Eh. I'll be fine."  


"I'll walk you home. I'm pretty sure you won't be able to survive out there."  


"You sure? We can just get a cab."  


"Yeah, I need a walk." Carisi tossed his blazer over his arm.  


  


It was especially warm for January, almost 60 degrees, which Carisi loved. He hated winter in New York most years, all the snow and wind and assholes that didn't know how to drive. Barba was an asshole that didn't know how to drive, but he was an exception to Carisi. The two of them walked side-by-side down the dark but busy road. Flashing rainbow lights danced across Barba's face, through his dark hair, in his keen eyes.  


"You feeling any better?" Barba asked, tilting his head upwards. He was a considerable amount shorter than Carisi, but his personality gave him an aura of authority, which was why Carisi had never noticed it before. Now, drunk and babbling like an idiot, he seemed smaller, but also more like a real person. Not just a cartoon of himself.  


"A little. I think it'll be awhile before I'm good again."  


"I get that. Carisi?"  


"Hm?" They stopped, Barba's broad hands gripping Carisi's wiry arms.  


"I get it. Seriously, I do. After that whole thing earlier this year with the death threats and all that, you were there for me. You helped me. You didn't just solve my problems, you made me feel better about them. You put them in perspective. I owe you a debt for that."  


"Well, you've repaid it in full, I think."  


"No. I haven't."  


"What do you mean?"  


"I mean..." Barba groaned, running a hand through his graying hair. "I had selfish reasons for coming to the precinct tonight. I wasn't there to see Olivia. I knew she'd be gone. I came because I wanted to check up on you." He shrugged, his eyes downcast. "She called me earlier to tell me what had happened, and I knew that as much as the others would try to help you, there was a limit to what they could do. I want to be here for you, Carisi, but not because you helped me. I want to help you because you're... you're you."  


"What are you saying?"  


"I'm saying... you're so much. You're everything. Everything I'm not. And I..." At that moment, Barba seemed to lose the ability to speak. His hand came to rest on top of Carisi's tie, and he propped himself up on his tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to Carisi's lips. It wasn't a particularly abrupt movement, but it shocked Carisi all the same. "Well, you're... you." Barba laughed. "What else can I say?"  


"You don't- you don't need to say anything else." Barba bit his lip and turned away.  


"Damn. That was a stupid move. I'm sorry, I'm drunk. Pretend it never happened. It was just a joke, anyway-"  


"You're honest when you're drunk. That's what you said, isn't it?"  


"...yeah."  


"So be honest."  


"Okay." Barba set his jaw, staring defiantly up at Carisi. "I like you. I really, really like you. Like, I'm not sure I've ever liked anyone this much and God, I feel like a third grader, but I can't say it any better than this-" He was cut off as Carisi leaned down, his lips meeting Barba's in the warm evening. "...Oh."  


"Was that-"  


"I just-" They stopped for just a second.  


"Sorry, go ahead-"  


"What were you-" They broke out laughing.  


"I was just gonna say... I like you. Too. Even though I really feel like a third grader now," Carisi said breathlessly as he slipped his hand into Barba's. And they kept walking, fit together like two pieces from different puzzles that are still somehow complementary. They weren't the light and the dark, because nobody is. There's no separation. Just varying shades of gray under the New York streetlights.  


**Author's Note:**

> If you look closely, there are about three lines that I wrote passive-aggressively about Rick Eid because I'd fight him. Bring back Warren Leight. That is all.


End file.
